Page 1 of The Sicilian’s Deal For 'I Do'

PROLOGUE

Twelve months earlier

BENEATHTHECHAPELWINDOW, in the small square tucked deep in the ancient heart of Palermo, the world kept turning. Children ran by, gelatos in hand, sun on their chubby cheeks, parents walking behind them arm in arm, smiling, doting, adoring.

Mia watched as a boy of about nine tucked behind a wall, grinning, waiting until his sister, perhaps six, walked near to him, when he jumped out and shouted something. Though the chapel glass was thin and rippled by age, Mia couldn’t hear through it, but she guessed it was something like, ‘Boo!’ The girl jumped, then both keeled over, laughing.

Despite the anxiety building inside Mia’s gut over her own situation, she smiled. A weak, distracted smile, before she turned her back on the outside world with deep reluctance.

‘Surely he’s just been delayed.’

She caught sight of herself in an ancient mirror. Like the windows, it too was damaged by the passage of time, so it distorted her slightly, but that didn’t matter. The ludicrousness of this was all too apparent, even without a clear reflection.

Had she really thought this would happen?

That today would be her wedding day?

That Luca Cavallaro wouldactuallymarry her?

Flashes of their brief, whirlwind courtship ran before her eyes. Her bewilderment at the idea of marriage, her parents’ explanation that it was best for the family, for the business, and then, meeting Luca, who had swept her away with a single look, a brooding, fulminating glance that had turned her blood to lava and made her wonder if she’d ever really existed before knowing him.

Every time they’d been together, she’d felt that same zing. When they’d touched—even just the lightest brushing of hands—it had been like fireworks igniting in her bloodstream, and their kiss, that one, wild kiss, had left Mia with the certainty that she was born to be held by him.

The hot sting of tears threatened but Mia sucked in a calming breath, refusing to give into the temptation to weep. Not here, not now, certainly not in front of her parents, who were staring at Mia with expressions of abject disappointment, and, worse, a lack of surprise. As if they had almost expected this, for her to fail them.

‘What did you say to him?’ Jennifer Marini pushed, arms crossed over her svelte frame. ‘You were alone with him, by the car the other night. What happened?’

Unlike Mia, Jennifer was tall and willow thin—a difference Jennifer never failed to highlight. Instead of growing into a stunning, svelte woman, like Jennifer, Mia had stopped growing a little over five feet, and had developed lush, generous curves.Just like your mother, Jennifer had never failed to condemn, as if bearing a resemblance to the woman who’d birthed Mia was a sin.

Reluctantly, Mia’s eyes were drawn back to her own reflection. To the frothy white dress and ridiculous hairstyle. She’d been primped and preened and pulled in a thousand directions since first light. An army of women had worked on getting her ‘bride ready’. She thought of the waxing with heated cheeks and blinked again quickly now.

Despite their efforts, Mia couldn’t help thinking how far this was from her best look. She was under no illusions as to her beauty. She was pretty enough, she supposed, in the right light and to the right person, and as long as she could remember her biological mother’s eyes and smile, Mia felt glad that they lived on in her own face. But she liked pasta far too much and disliked sweating generally, which ruled out a vast array of cardio exercises. She was never going to be reed thin like her adoptive mother, nor did she want to be. There was a sternness to Jennifer, and a general lack ofjoie de vivrethat Mia had always associated with her restrictive diet: far better to eat the pasta—and the gelato and the focaccia and the mozzarella—and be happy, Mia always thought.

‘I—nothing,’ she said, quickly, even though memories of those snatched moments were making her pulse rush now.

‘I did everything I could for you,’ Jennifer said with a ticking of her finger to her palm, the harsh red of her manicure catching Mia’s eye. ‘I did everything I could to pave the way for this marriage. You must have said something.’

‘I haven’t spoken to him in a week,’ Mia denied. Perhaps it was strange not to talk to your fiancé for so long, but then, this was far from a normal marriage, and her situation was far from normal. Marriage to Luca Cavallaro wasn’t a love match. Not for him, anyway. She frowned, and her heart began to beat faster, to race, as she remembered their first meeting. The way their eyes had locked, and something had shifted inside her, a part of Mia she hadn’t known existed, the part of her she’d always wondered about.

Whatever physical beauty she lacked, he made up for, with abundance.

Like a specimen from a gallery or a famous actor or a pristine example of what the male speciesshouldbe. Tall, sculpted, muscular without being bulky, strong, and when he’d looked at her, she’d felt this giddy sense of disbelief thathewas actually going to be her husband.

They’d only seen each other a handful of times after that, always with Mia’s parents until that last night, and the conversations had revolved around the businesses. The sale of Mia’s father’s old family corporation to Luca Cavallaro and his newly minted multibillion-dollar fortune. Just what the world needed: another beyond handsome, alpha-male billionaire!

But then there’d beenthatkiss, when he’d been leaving one evening and Jennifer had hastily told Mia to walk him out. The moon had been high in the sky above her parents’ estate in the countryside surrounding Palermo, the sound of the ocean drowned out by the rushing of her blood as he’d pulled her into his arms, stared down at her, frowned for a moment and then, he’d simply kissed her, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Perhaps it was. They’d spent hours in each other’s company over the course of their engagement—maybe he’d expected more kissing, more of everything? Mia didn’t know. That night, he’d taken matters into his own hands... She’d expected it would turn out like a movie, a three-second kiss, maximum, but his lips had lingered, and the world had slowed right down along with it. She’d moaned, because he’d smelled so good but tasted better; the kiss was by far the best thing she’d ever felt. Like coming home—except, Mia had never really felt at home anywhere since her parents had died.

And then his arms had tightened around her back, melding her curvy body to his, and he’d deepened the kiss, his passionate inspection of her mouth leaving her shaking, writhing wantonly against him, until he’d pulled away and stared down at her once more. Was that surprise in his features? At the time, Mia had thought so, but, like all memories, it shifted and morphed so she couldn’t have said with any confidence the next morning that it hadn’t been boredom. Or worse, disgust. After all, Mia had very limited experience with kissing men.

That had been one week before their wedding. They hadn’t seen nor spoken to one another afterwards, but she’d had no reason to doubt him.

No reason to doubt this would come to pass. If anything, the kiss had cemented his intentions for Mia. How could he make her feel like that and then walk away?

She could have wept when she thought of her childish fantasies, the dreams that had kept her awake at night and stirred her body to a fever pitch of wanting.

When her parents had first told her about the wedding, she’d been unsure about the idea. They’d wanted to know a Marini would still work in the family business, and also that Mia would be taken care of once they’d sold off such a valuable asset. But it didn’t take long for Mia to warm to the idea.

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